


She

by blackestfaery



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, F/M, Past Tense, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackestfaery/pseuds/blackestfaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows that the only way to move forward is if he lets her go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sealing the Veil](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/37057) by ponekad. 



> Written for Hawthorn & Vine's Reverse Challenge 2014 and inspired by ponekad’s beautiful painting _Sealing the Veil_. She has such a very distinctive style that I recognized it immediately and just had to claim it. This piece in particular inspired two plots, the first of which I ended up scrapping. I still have it though, so maybe it'll see the light of day.
> 
> Thank you for the beautiful inspiration, ponekad! I hope you find my companion piece worthy, in even the smallest of ways, of your talent.

She pauses just before she’s out of sight, one hand resting lightly on the frame, and he can’t help but think again how right she still looks in this moment. In his home, with his ring on her finger.

“Draco?”

“Yes?” He meets her eyes then and sees understanding reflected back at him.

“Tomorrow will be kinder.”

***

Draco felt recognition skitter up his arm, the fingers of his right hand wrapped around those of her left. He had been anticipating an indulgent moment with the last square of treacle fudge, but instead, he was holding hands—however accidentally—with Hermione Granger. His fingers tightened for the barest of seconds, just enough to feel hers twitch in return, before his hand fell to his side.

She appeared as nonplussed as he felt, staring at the hand she still held outstretched, the piece of sweet still pinched between her fingers. He briefly considered just turning away whilst she got over the fact that the first contact they’d had in five years was a touch. Not a stiff greeting nor even a cut direct but an actual touch. Skin on skin, warmth against warmth, and just why did the palm of his hand prick with sweat?

He pressed his hand flat against his leg and nodded curtly. “Granger.”

This seemed to snap her to attention, and Draco watched in dismay as the fudge fell and bounced off the table to the floor. What a waste.

“Malfoy.” Granger’s eyes darted over him, assessing and noting, he was sure, that the cut of his robes were just this side of too short. He felt his chin notch up.

“Decided to be a minion of the Ministry, I see.”

“It’s an old decision. A four year old one, in fact, but I don’t suppose you’d have known that—what with the _Prophet_ not delivering to Azkaban.”

“That’s old too, you know.”

“What is?”

“That uppity attitude of yours, Granger. No wonder Weasley dumped your bitchy arse.” He looked pointedly at her left hand, his mouth curling wryly as it clenched against her side.

“H-How dare you! I cannot believe you have the nerve to—”

It was amazing, he thought, as he watched the flush of anger and humiliation bloom across her face, how some things never changed. No matter the years between them, an encounter with Granger would always get a rise out of him. She was dependable in that way.

And happily, it looked like she felt the same way about him.

***

He pushes the door wide, the bell above him clanging a tinny welcome. From behind the counter, the shopkeeper pauses from unpacking a box to nod at him before turning away. Draco is a regular patron. He knows where to go.

The shop sits just off Diagon Alley, a square, modestly sized one room layout with a similar approach to that of other stores where one is meant to browse in—baskets of wares set out in charmingly crooked lines and stacked in others areas—but with one noticeable exception. Save for the dull hum of passersby, the shop remains quiet. Nothing moves or pops or sparkles. The labels attached to the products are serious little affairs, the names and expiration dates handwritten with a practised flourish.

It’s a bit of a contradiction, considering their contents and what they can do.

Draco walks down one aisle and counts the baskets as he passes. Ten across, two up. He pulls five pots of _Warmth_ and a matching number of _Honey_ before striding to the back of the room. He picks a canvas that stands as tall as he does but is twice as wide before turning for the counter. The shopkeeper reduces the size of the canvas until it fits alongside the jars in the bag. They clink together as he hands them over along with Draco’s change.

“You really favour those two colours, Mr. Malfoy. I always keep them stocked just for you.”

“Thank you,” Draco murmurs. “I need so many at a time because I still can’t get the shade right.”

***

The click of her heels announced her presence long before Granger turned the corner and entered her office. He read her agitation in the ramrod stiffness of her spine but was nonetheless impressed as she managed to gently close the door before crossing and sitting behind her desk. After some digging in her folio, she produced a file and began to read.

It took a minute before he realized she was not going to acknowledge him. He cleared his throat.

“Not. Another. Word.” She flipped a sheet of paper over and continued reading.

“I haven’t even—“

“Not one more,” Granger closed the file before finally looking him in the eye. “Are you mad?”

“Seeing as how I’m out of Azkaban, I think I’ve shown that I’m more than capable of resuming my life.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Malfoy. Why did you specifically request me as your parole officer?”

“Why not you?”

“Gee, let me think. Maybe it was the fact that you were a part of a conscienceless and morally _stunted_ group of _animals_ who wanted nothing more than to kill my best friend and eradicate the Wizarding World of people like me? Does that sound at all familiar?”

“It does,” Draco breathed. He sat back in his chair. “You don’t pull your punches, Granger.”

Her gaze dropped slightly before meeting his again. “You should know.”

***

She looks over his shoulder and admires the bones of his wrist as he dabs and strokes the froth onto the curling waves. The paint— _Blanc_ , he calls it—begins to mix with the blue of an ocean so real she wants to run into the water and feel the waves break against her shins and the sand swirl between her toes.

“You keep surprising me with your hidden talents,” she says suddenly. She nods as Draco turns toward her. “It’s so beautiful. I want to go there.”

He smiles at her as he rinses his brush.

“You will.”

***

They happened more often now. Nights where she stayed so late, she’d fall asleep on the sofa opposite him. He’d be so engrossed in his own work that he’d only realize she’d dropped off when her papers would spill across the floor, a waterfall of legal documents and half-finished to-do lists spreading around her in angled ripples.

She looked terribly uncomfortable in that position. Stocking clad legs pulled up and to the side. Chin propped against her shoulder blade, the weight of her head listing her to the right.

Draco stared for another minute before setting his papers aside. The fallen pages were quietly re-ordered just like her limbs, and Granger murmured a half-conscious thank you as he tucked a blanket around her.

***

She trails her fingers over the keys of the piano, humming an unfamiliar tune that he’s quite sure doesn’t match what she’s tapping out on the ivory. He’s also sure that she’s not happy with him at the moment.

“I’ll make sure to tell Potter you said hello.”

“Good. And that I love him.”

He pauses as he pulls on his cloak, one arm awkwardly bent behind him. “Must I? He might get the wrong idea.”

“Yes. And a kiss.” She waves off his glare. “Just tell him it’s from me.”

“A hello I’ll tell him and maybe the love bit as well, but no, never a kiss.”

***

They’ve graduated from impromptu sleepovers on the couch to a guest room in his personal wing of the manor before Granger finally grabs his hand as he gets ready to leave.

“Stay,” she whispered to his hand, and Draco knew the feeling because he couldn’t do anything but stare at her hand too.

***

Oddly enough (or perhaps not), out of the three libraries available to her in the manor, she likes the smallest of them best. Perhaps because no matter where she is, they can see each other. She flips the page of the book in her lap before a yawn squeezes her eyes shut.

“Sleepy?” Draco asks.

“Yeah.” She sets the book aside before rolling her neck from side to side. “I mean, I like that book—read it so many times—but the hero can get pretty loquacious when he’s worked up enough. I think I’m going to turn in. Are you coming?”

“Hm. Not yet. Still a bit more of this,” he waves the stack of bills in his hand, “to go. Go ahead. I’ll be up soon.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replies and watches her leave before turning back to his work.

He is so used to it now that the lack of a door opening and closing no longer bothers him.

***

“Dating,” Potter tried out the word like he was learning a foreign language for the first time and failing terribly. “You two are _day-ting?”_

Sitting as she was beside him, Draco felt the stiffening of her back. “Yes. For some time now, actually.”

“Since when? How? Why?”

“Let me answer that,” he interrupted before Granger could respond. “When? About half a year ago when all you cared about was getting the Weaslette pregnant again. How? We agreed. We’re not fifteen anymore. I didn’t ask Granger if she like-liked me and if so, would she like to maybe hold hands sometime and snog? And as for why…”

“Go on.” Potter had turned an interesting shade of puce.

“Because we want to, Potter. And also because I’m fucking tired of pretending that I’m not shagging your best friend several times a week.”

***

“Do you remember,” she says when he enters the bedroom from the balcony doors, “all those Quidditch games between Gryffindor and Slytherin?”

“How could I forget? Bloody, brilliant Potter and _look at me, I caught the Snitch with my mouth._ Wished he’d choked on it.”

“ _Anyways_ , I was just about to say that I noticed you even then.”

He smiles at this. “Really? I was quite a vision on that broo—”

“Of course. How could I not? The size of your head made you hard to miss.”

***

Draco doesn’t know what surprised him more when the news of their engagement was announced in the _Daily Prophet_ : Potter’s simple but sincere congratulations or the fact that there was already speculation as to when Granger was due.

“They’re alleging that I knocked you up. That we went from dating for a year to getting engaged, because I’m shit at a contraceptive charm! Every boy over the age of sixteen knows that charm. It’s the only one they really practiced next to _Lubricus_.”

Granger groaned around the rim of her teacup. “You know that _Lubricus’_ original purpose was to, you know, lubricate things? Like rusty hinges? Not your bits.”

He paused from reading _Malfoy’s Misses-to-be May be Mother-to-be_ to look over the edge of the newspaper. “Do you think a randy sixteen-year-old would care, Granger?”

“No, but I’ll give you points for creativity. Still gross but creative.”

***

This morning, they don’t speak for a long time after he awakens. She stares at the picture he keeps of them on the bedside table, the miniature versions of them in a constant loop as they dance and kiss and wave for the camera. She finally remembers to blink and takes a deep breath when Draco sits up. He props his elbows against his raised knees and holds his head, fingers slotted through his hair.

“What would it be if she were still alive?”

He does the math like he doesn’t know the answer already.

“Our fifth.”

***

He’s dreamed the same set of events so often that he knows it all in detail.

The hot, metallic scent of blood as it travels the length of his wand. The acrid stench of the dark spell as it collides with the canvas, lighting the whole of it on fire before the portrait slowly begins to bow out with an unseen pressure. It distends so far out that little fissures begin to appear, slits that turn into rips that turn into tears where beams of dark light peek through. It takes so long that when the entire thing explodes, he is flattened, temporarily blind and deaf.

His body aches and there’s a ringing in his ears, but it is worth it because there, in the tattered maw of burnt canvas and miasma, she lies.

Too still, he thinks, and then he’s tripping over his own feet to reach her, her name more a gasp than a call. She’s still unmoving when he picks her up in his arms, but she is _warm_ and that means _life_ and a return to a time when they were tentatively talking about turning her old guest room into a nursery.

She’s disoriented, eyes a little cloudy, but she’s there, here, in his arms and she’s saying, “Dra—”

***

“—co, wake up. Wake up!”

He’s up and halfway across the room with wand in hand before he realizes that she’s not in the main portrait hung over the fireplace. Rather, she’s in the smallest of the frames he’s had done, curled up on a tufted bench beside a window.

“What’s happened?” He demands.

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around her legs tighter. “Nothing. I was just told that I needed to wake you when you got like this.”

“Like—”

“You were screaming. Screaming my— _her_ name.”

***

She can’t see the barrier that keeps her from stepping into the room, but she can certainly feel it. It’s quite the tease to see so much of a world she can never be a part of; to see the sun but never feel its warmth. But this is better than when the cupboard is shut.

“What am I going to learn today?” She asks as Hermione sits down in front of her.

“I’m going to tell you about the first time I saw Draco play Quidditch against Harry.”

“Harry. Harry Potter. Your best friend.”

“Yes, good! It was the first match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Draco had it out for Harry right from the beginning…”

She listens as Hermione reminisces, noting the graceful movements of her hands as she speaks and the way she tilts her head forward when making a point. She listens until the whole of the Quidditch match is recounted, down to how the Snitch was caught.

“Harry really caught it in his mouth?” She clasps her hands over her own to stifle her laughter. “That’s amazing!”

“It was,” Hermione smiles, eye distant. Eventually, she takes a breath and nods before shuffling her chair closer.

She leans forward too. “Yes?”

“There will come a time when I can no longer be with Draco. I have… well, it’s terminal and, yes, I’m scared, but _please_ ,” Hermione begs, voice cracking with her sudden tears. “Please just do your best to remind him of the good times. Admire his talents—he has so many. A lot I know of, but even more that I won’t get to know. Wake him up when he’s having nightmares, and be quiet when he is quiet.”

She knows she can do nothing but listen until Hermione can continue on. “Is there anything else?”

Hermione smiles brokenly. “And when he looks like he just can’t go on… remind him that tomorrow will be kinder.”

***

Somehow, she knows that today is different, and Draco proves her right. She sits quietly on the tufted bench and looks out of the window as he moves around the manor. She hears knocks and thuds until it blends into a white noise that breaks only when he picks her up.

“I never said thank you, you know. Hermione never did tell me what you two spoke about, but she knew me—loved me—best. I can hazard a guess that she told you to take care of me as well as you could.”

She smiles up at him as he leaves the bedroom and goes down the hall and up several flights of stairs. “She did.”

“I miss her so much.”

“I know.”

Draco’s silent for long moments as he sets her down. “Where will you go?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m going to camp out on that beach. You did an amazing job with that one. I’m going to be just fine.”

He laughs softly before adjusting her one last time. “Thank you. For everything.”

She nods before uncurling from the bench. “Take care, Draco.”

“And you as well.”

She pauses just before she’s out of sight, one hand resting lightly on the frame, and he can’t help but think again how right she still looks in this moment. In his home, with his ring on her finger.

“Draco?”

“Yes?” He meets her eyes then and sees understanding reflected back at him.

“Tomorrow will be kinder.”

He smiles softly and waits until she has left the portrait before shaking his head. His chest hitches once, twice, and he chokes against the groan pushing against his teeth. He breathes in deep before rushing through the last of his tasks. The creak of the cupboard is final, the snick of the lock the last pat of dirt on a grave he’s finally dug and filled in.

“You’re right, Granger,” he says, pocketing the worn, golden key. “It will be.”

***

Tomorrow will be kinder  
It's true, I've seen it before  
A brighter day is coming my way  
Yes, tomorrow will be kinder

– _Tomorrow Will Be Kinder_ , The Secret Sisters

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to spoil the "surprise" by explaining the tense changes, but since you've made it to the end, the scenes written in present tense were between Draco and _she_ —Portrait Hermione. Scenes in past tense were when Hermione was alive. I don't think I'll ever write something again where one of them is dying/will die/has died. In my mind, Draco and Hermione live happily ever after, forever. Putting Draco in this situation pained me in a way that I hadn't expected.


End file.
